Scrapbook of Secrets (21 page)

Authors: Mollie Cox Bryan

BOOK: Scrapbook of Secrets

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Chapter 42

DeeAnn almost choked on her wine when Vera told them what had happened. Annie ran over to pat her on the back. “Are you okay?”

Her face was red and she continued to cough, even though she nodded yes—she was fine.

“Good God,” said Sheila. “How could you let him touch you?”

“I don’t know, Sheila. I guess ... I was horny.”

The reply led to fits of giggles.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sheila said, trying not to laugh. “Right there on your table?”

“It was the best sex we’ve had in years,” Vera said, brushing off crumbs from her purple T-shirt that had
I’d rather be scrapping
on it.

“Don’t invite me over for dinner. That’s all I have to say,” DeeAnn said, her face red from laughing.

“So?” Annie asked after everyone calmed down. “Is the divorce off?”

“I don’t know,” Vera said, lining up her ruler so that she could cut a straight edge.

“Of course, you’ll get back with him,” Sheila said. “Isn’t that what the sex meant?”

“I’m not prepared to let him back into the house,” Vera said.

“It’s just too confusing,” Sheila stated. “I can’t keep up with this.”

“It’s just the baby,” Annie offered. “Every time I’ve been pregnant, I was incredibly horny and could not get enough sex. Poor Mike. He couldn’t keep up.”

“Well, I could have lived without knowing that,” Sheila said. “I never felt horny when I was pregnant. I was always so tired and miserable.”

“I feel great,” Vera said. “And, in fact, Bill is coming over later tonight for another little chat.”

“Be careful, Vera, this just might be, you know, divorce sex. It happens all the time,” Paige said.

“How do you know?” DeeAnn asked.

She shrugged. “I guess I’ve read about it.”

“So what if it is?” Vera responded. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.” She bit into a lemon bar. “Goodness, this is delish, DeeAnn.”

“Thanks. We’re thinking of trying that recipe with some other ingredients—like blackberry, lime, and orange.”

“Oh, that would be very good,” Vera said.

Annie concentrated on cutting out the star figure from the template with her X-ACTO blade. She was thinking about her interview with Bill, which was two nights ago, the evening of the day he and Vera had made love on the kitchen table. He told her he was sure they would be getting back together.

“I feel confident that she will take me back,” he had said. “I think she’s beginning to realize that sex and love can be two different things. They are for men—and for some women. For Maggie Rae, for example. I wasn’t her only lover.”

“Did you know that at the time you were seeing her?”

“We never discussed it, but every once in while, she hurried me along because someone else was on his way.”

“That must have hurt a little,” Annie said.

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I didn’t care for her. I just wanted to sleep with her. Hasn’t that ever happened with you?”

He looked at her with his piercing green eyes and she felt a ripple of embarrassment.

“I’m not the one being interviewed here, Bill,” she told him, resenting his assumption that it was okay to talk to her about this.

“No. But I hope, dear, that you’ve experienced that passionate release with a man you didn’t care about, whom you just wanted to sleep with. It’s satisfying in the strangest way.”

Of course, she had, but it was none of his business—and she’d never tell her husband about it. Yes, he knew she was no virgin. But if he’d known exactly what her past experiences entailed, she wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it. And she had no reason to revisit her past. What was done was done. She’d had her fun—but now she was a mother and very much in love with her husband. These two things had changed everything, to her way of thinking, though not to her brother and sister-in-law’s mind-set. They were committed “swingers” who changed extramarital partners frequently. To each his or her own.

“Maggie Rae made herself available. She derived great joy in pleasuring other people. But it was more than that, really. She wanted to be humiliated, wanted to be hurt. She wanted to explore all realms of passion and that line between passion and pain,” Bill said, looking directly into Annie’s eyes, with a little lift of his eyebrow. Was he flirting with her?

Annie fussed in her seat as Bill leaned forward, never taking his eyes from her. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? Are you still a suspect in the murder?” she asked, looking away from him momentarily, then meeting his glance with a coldness.

“Yes, I am. I could never kill anybody, you know,” he told her.

“That’s what they all say,” she answered in a clipped tone. She didn’t like this man—it was that simple. She couldn’t imagine her friend Vera with him. He thought he was smarter than Annie—and had this patronizing quality to him. She recognized it.

She also recognized how he was gauging her reaction to his flirtations and the conversation about sex. She knew that some guys get off on just talking about it—they want to engage a woman.

He ignored her comment. “Yes. As far as anyone knows, I’m the last person to see her alive before she was murdered,” he answered, and leaned back in his chair. “That makes me feel a little weird. I keep going over our last conversation in my mind. It was minimal. We hardly spoke to one another, ever, but that night ... I just can’t remember if she said someone else was coming there. I don’t think she’d said anything to me.”

“Did you happen to notice a pile of garbage on her curb?”

He shook his head no. “I always left from the other door—the basement door.”

Of course, you did, asshole.

“So, Bill, how did the police find out you were there?” Annie asked.

“DNA evidence,” he said. “They found it when they did the autopsy, and more of it in her place. I’d been with Maggie Rae for a while, so it was everywhere.”

Lovely image. Enough to make your stomach turn.

“Did you ever stop to think what would happen if your wife found out?”

“Hmph,” he said. “Vera’s in her own little world. The dancing. The scrapbooking. Now it’s the baby. I doubt she even gave it much thought or consideration.”

“Maybe that’s because she trusted you.”
Bill’s face fell, eyes lowered. Annie looked away.

“I wonder if we’ve tampered with evidence,” Annie said to the scrapbookers.

“What do you mean?” Vera asked.

“I mean, I think that whoever placed the scrapbooks on the streets must be the one who killed her. I wonder if there were fingerprints? Or, I don’t know, DNA?”

“Well, if there were, we’ve done messed it up, I’m sure,” Paige said, twirling one of her long earrings.

“Not necessarily. I’ll ask Detective Bryant about it on Monday. I’m supposed to be interviewing him. Mike will be home in the morning to watch the boys, so I’m heading over to Bryant’s office,” Annie said, taking a bite of the lemon bar.

“Have you seen Robert since that night?” Vera asked.

“No, and I don’t want to. The whole thing freaked me out.”

“That’s why you need a gun,” said Beatrice, who was just opening the basement door. A basket full of muffins slung over her arms.

“Mama! You and your guns!” Vera said.

She looked perplexed and shrugged. “If that man had been on my porch, I’d have had no problem using it.”

Sheila took the muffins and set them on the table. “What do we owe the honor of your presence?”

“I wanted to bake, and then I saw all this food I made and thought I’d share. That’s all,” she said, sitting down next to Annie. “How are you, dear? Do you need to borrow my gun?”

Annie smiled. “No thanks. I bought a baseball bat. I’m more comfortable with that.”

“A bat could do some damage,” Beatrice said.

“Thanks for the book. I’m almost finished with it,” Annie said.

“Take your time, dear,” she answered, looking over Annie’s scrapbook. “What cute boys you have.”

“Thanks,” she said, and held up the book. A few of Maggie Rae’s photos that she hadn’t placed in a book yet slipped out of her new soccer scrapbook.

“Are these Maggie Rae’s pictures?”

“Yes,” Annie said. “This picture right here sort of haunts me.”

All of the women stopped what they were doing and gathered around Annie.

“Why?” Vera asked. “I mean, it’s a picture of her when she was a child, and it’s sad that she came to the ending she did, but what’s disturbing about it?”

“Well, now,” DeeAnn said. “That’s not the same man who was at the wake and was introduced as her father.”

“That’s right!” Sheila said.

“Oh, now,” Bea said slowly. “I remember this family.”

“Oh, my God, yes,” Vera said. “Her father was brutally murdered. Remember, Mama? What was that all about?”

“Um, I don’t remember all of the details. But there was that crazy hiker who came down from the Appalachian Trail. That was horrible. So tragic. It left his family without much,” Beatrice said. “But this picture is really odd because those girls were much younger when their father died. Or at least that’s how I remember it.”

All of the women stood together; each one was trying to remember any little thing.

“Well, if it was in the paper, I can find out about it,” Annie said. “I do remember Tina Sue saying something about a stepfather.”

“Who is this?” Beatrice asked, reaching for a picture of Tina Sue as a teenager.

“That’s Maggie Rae’s sister,” Vera said.

“She looks a lot like her sister,” DeeAnn said.

“Sure does,” Beatrice added. “This old brain of mine ... it’s so frustrating sometimes. Lately, I can’t keep people apart.” She looked at the picture again. “Of course, a really odd thing about this picture is, who in his right mind would plant an apple tree so close to a house?”

“Now, think, Mama,” Vera said. “Don’t worry about that damn apple tree. Do you remember anything else about this family?”

“I’ll remember later, I’m sure, at some inopportune moment,” she said, reaching for a muffin. “Do you mind? Move over, Vera.”

Sheila grabbed the picture. “Wait a minute,” she said, holding the picture up to the light. “Hmm. Maybe this is a fake picture.” She took it to her light table and placed a magnifying glass over it. “Well, I’ll be. This picture has been Photoshopped. Someone placed a new head and face on this other man’s body.”

“Why on earth would someone do that?” Vera asked. “It’s ... I don’t know ... creepy.”

Chapter 43

Beatrice never felt better—other than the regular aches and pains that came with aging. The dark presence that she came to think of as Maggie Rae seemed to be out of her life—even though Bill was not. Vera was not letting him come home, but they saw each other almost every night. And Bill couldn’t find an apartment with a month-to-month lease, which he insisted he needed in case Vera let him go back to his house.

Beatrice hated to admit it, but it was nice to have a man around the house to help her out occasionally. Bill turned out to be good company. She forgot how comforting it was to have a companion. They had breakfast together every morning; sometimes he’d come home for lunch. They’d chat about the hummingbirds, the leaky faucet, or, sometimes, Vera.

Bea was torn between hating him and trying to behave in a good Christian hey-you-were-a part-of-my-family way. They’d always gotten along. What was there
not
to like about Bill, but there was really nothing
to like
about him, either. He was always sort of nondescript in Bea’s mind. If the woman he cheated on hadn’t been her daughter, she’d think the cheating thing was the only interesting thing about him.

Even though many people might think Vera would be miserable with her husband gone, Beatrice was sure her daughter had never been happier. Maybe it was the pregnancy. Four months along now, and really showing this beautiful bump, Vera looked better than she had in years. She wasn’t dying her hair and wore little makeup—her natural beauty was really shining. Beatrice loved that. After all of these years, her daughter was gaining in confidence and, perhaps, happiness, though Beatrice didn’t want to pry. She knew Vera would tell her when she was ready.

But on this Sunday morning, Vera made a special effort to join Bill and her for breakfast. She wanted to share some news with them. Beatrice was curious, as was Bill, who was happily whistling through the house, waiting for Vera.

When she arrived, she held a cardboard box of muffins and cream puffs from the bakery. “Dig in,” she said.

Vera poured them decaf—Vera was no longer drinking any caffeinated beverages. They sat around the table, and Bill nonchalantly put his arm around Vera. He laid it on the back of her chair.

“So you said you had something to tell us,” he said.

“Oh, yes,” Vera said, sounding as if she’d forgotten. “I’m leaving tomorrow on a little trip.”

“Alone?” Bill asked, setting down his muffin.

“I’ve talked to the doctor about it, Bill. I’ll be fine to travel—it’s just to New York. I’m going to take a teaching workshop, maybe look up some old friends. Hang out at some of the old places. I don’t know. I thought it might be fun,” Vera told them.

“Alone?” Bill said again, as if he could not believe it.

“Well, yes. I am a grown-up. I know my way around the city. I’ll be fine. It’s something I wanted to do for a very long time. Take a trip by myself. I saw this workshop and I thought it was a great opportunity. I’ll be gone a couple of weeks,” she told them, and licked cream from the top of her cream puff, leaving a fine layer of powdered sugar on her lips. She then wiped off her mouth with the napkin.

“Alone and pregnant in New York?” Bill said again.

“I think it’s a fabulous idea,” Bea chimed in. “You should do it now before you have the baby.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Vera said.

“I’m not sure I like this,” Bill said after sipping his coffee. “I mean, what if something happens to you? To the baby?”

“God forbid, but I do think they have hospitals and doctors in New York City,” Vera said, and smiled at him. “I wonder if you’d like to house-sit for me, Bill.”

“House-sit? It’s my own goddamn house,” he said, his face turning red. “House-sit while you’re gallivanting around New York? I’ll be damned.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Beatrice asked calmly. “My goodness, Bill.”

His eyes lowered.

“I guess I thought you’d come to a decision about us, Vera,” he said after a moment. “We’ve been getting along so well.”

“Yes, Bill, we have. I’m just not sure about sharing a life with you. I love your company, and we’re having a great time together like we are. Can we just leave it alone?”

“You mean with me living with your mother and coming to see you almost every night? It seems, I don’t know, silly,” he said.

“It kind of does,” Beatrice offered. “But if it works ... I don’t mind having you around, and Vera will make up her mind eventually. So maybe it’s best to take your time.”

She could see the love in Bill’s eyes as he looked at her daughter. She’d sworn she’d never seen that look before on his face. Vera, on the other hand, did not return that look. She was growing into herself, and Beatrice was not sure that there would be room for Bill. She felt a twinge of excitement for Vera, going on a trip alone to New York City. She wondered if there was more to it than the workshop. But what?

“Oh, Mama, I have to tell you I really loved going through those scrapbooks you and Bill dropped off. Looking through them brought back such wonderful memories,” Vera said. “Funny. At first, I didn’t even want to look at them. They sat there for days. Then one morning I opened the first one and sat there all day long looking over the pictures and clippings and stuff. It was almost like discovering myself all over again.”

Bill looked at Beatrice, twisted his mouth, and then looked away.

Would her daughter ever know such love and joy as she had known with Ed? Bea contemplated. Oh, she wished that more than anything. Before she died, she wanted to see her daughter happy. She wanted to see her loved.

And Bill? Before today, she wasn’t sure he ever really loved Vera. Maybe that was why he had turned to Maggie Rae. Maybe he was as frustrated by their mediocrity as Vera was static.

Yes. She was static. Had been for years. Every time Beatrice asked her if she was happy, she’d smile and say something silly. “What is happiness, Mama?” Or “Of course, I am happy.”

But a mother always knew. Vera held a deep sadness within her. Sometimes it pained Beatrice to look too closely into her daughter’s eyes. She could see it there. She’d tried to offer advice and be there for her—but Vera was closed off and distant. It was as if she were broken in New York—for that’s when this great sadness seemed to come over her daughter’s appearance. Before then, her face always rested in a happy look, with a spark of fire and passion in her eyes. Beatrice stopped trying to figure it out. Hell, her daughter was forty-one years old—by now, she was responsible for her own happiness.

If it was something about her childhood, or the way Beatrice and Ed brought her up, surely she would be over it by now. No. Vera’s childhood was happy, even with a mom whose passion was not necessarily mothering, a mother who understood more about mathematics and physics than she did about changing diapers and breastfeeding. But still, even with all of that, Bea loved Vera and was always there for her, wasn’t she? Even when she was working on a project and Vera would come into her office, she would stop and chat with her or find out what she needed. Vera was her priority for many years. It was the same way with Ed.

No. It wasn’t her childhood. Something happened to her in New York. Giving up her dance career and staying in Cumberland Creek might have been the start of it. But surely, she’d have gotten over that; and surely, she could have gone back to New York anytime when she was younger. But she insisted on staying here, her hometown, with her mother, after Ed’s death. Beatrice asked her to go back to New York time and time again.Bill supported her decision and they were married quickly, even though he was just finishing law school.

“This is what I want, Mama. I want to make a difference to this community so children won’t have to travel to Charlottesville for dance classes. And I want my own family here, not in New York.

Beatrice wanted to believe her, and soon she did. But perhaps she should not have. For after all of these years, that was the only thing Beatrice could think of that would affect her daughter’s happiness so much.

Later, after Vera left, and Beatrice and Bill were cleaning up the kitchen, Bill said he’d have to follow Vera to New York to make sure she was okay.

“Now, listen to me, Bill. That is the worst thing you could do. You need to allow her to spread her wings a bit. Don’t try to stop it—else it will come back and bite you in the ass,” Beatrice said firmly, as if she were scolding a child. And, in truth, she felt like she was. A man in his forties was still a baby, at least to her, and he needed to rein in those overprotective tendencies where her daughter was concerned. Vera was a grown woman.

True, dangers existed in New York City—but for God’s sake, Bea had been stabbed in Cumberland Creek, in the supermarket, in front of God and everybody—and they still had no idea who had done it. No place was safe anymore.

“We’re sorry,” the young officer had told her. “But the way the security cameras are positioned in that store is unhelpful. We saw you enter with no knife in your neck. We saw you leave with the knife. We never saw it happen and, of course, nobody else did, either.”

She had grunted in recognition. “Well, don’t that beat all.”

Breaking out of her reverie, Beatrice spoke aloud.

“So, Bill, how is the murder investigation going?”

She was wiping off the kitchen counter and reached for a lavender dish towel with embroidered flowers on it.
Lavender. Flowers.

“I really don’t know much about it,” he said. “The last account I heard is that they’d like to find out who placed the scrapbooks out on the curb for the garbageman.”

Lavender. Flowers.
At that moment, something clicked in Beatrice’s brain. She was outside early on the morning she was stabbed. She had decided to go for a walk before going to the grocery store. She could remember it as if it were yesterday. She had pulled on her red sweatpants and matching jacket. She liked to wear red on foggy spring mornings. She felt safer that way.

As she walked around the corner, she had heard a box being thrown to the ground with a thud. It had frightened her. Who would be up and outside at five in the morning?

“Oh, Bill,” she suddenly said. “I think you need to take me to the police department. I know who placed those boxes on the sidewalk.”

As she said that, she felt a slight breeze move through her, and a sweet scent filled her. Light. Cool. Crisp. Everything made a sudden interesting sense to her: Why Maggie Rae was angry. Why she was still earthbound. And why she came to Beatrice.

Why hadn’t Bea thought of it earlier? Then she suddenly smelled her husband’s tobacco, which she took as a good sign.

“Smell that?” she asked Bill.

“What?”

“Oh, never mind,” she told him. “I’m going to get dressed.”

But first she called Annie.

“Annie, I remember. It was the woman in the picture.”

“What? Who?”

“It was Maggie Rae’s sister I saw at the curb that morning.”

“Her sister? Tina Sue?”

“You interviewed her, right?”

“Yes.”

“What did she seem like?”

“She seemed really dedicated to her sister. Oh, I don’t know, Beatrice. Her sister?”

“There’s much more to the story than what we know. How about we try to get the scoop before I go to the cops?” Beatrice’s heart was pounding in her chest. Damn, she was excited. Could Maggie Rae’s sister be a murderer? And what would possess a woman to kill her own sister? “I’ll take you out there—but you have to promise me that you’ll take me with you to the police station when you tell Bryant. I want to see the look on his sexist, know-it-all face.”

“I’m in,” Annie said. “I’ll be over to get you as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going, Bea? I thought we were going to the station,” Bill said, walking into the room.

“Changed my mind. Going to see Tina Sue with Annie,” she said, hanging up the phone and grabbing a sweater.

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Never mind, Bill. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Beatrice, I don’t like this,”
Ed said, and stood in front of her.

“Now, Ed, don’t worry about me. It’s the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“What?” Bill said.

“I was talking to Ed,” she said as she walked out her front door.